These are the lives you'd love to lead
by letscall-l
Summary: Kurt gets to grips with moving away from everything he's ever loved and hated, and finds himself in the most unlikely way; through girls.


**Title**: These are the lives you'd love to lead.

**Author**: letscall_l

**Fandom**: Glee: Brittany/Santana Lopez, Kurt Hummel, tiny Finn/Kurt

**Disclaimer**: I do not own or mean to offend.

**Warnings**: PG-13. smallFor voyeurism, femslash./small

**Word count**: 10852

**Summary**: Kurt gets to grips with moving away from everything he's ever loved and hated, and finds himself in the most unlikely way; through girls.

* * *

It's the start of summer break and Kurt is still sporting his black eye and sprained wrist, when his dad drives him to take a look around the new house they're days from moving into. The black eye is a farewell gift from the captain of the basketball team at his old school; the sprain is from Kurt's attempt to fight back.

He's transferring to William McKinley HS in the fall for his junior year. It's his dad's last resort to ditch Kurt's bullies and start afresh with a second repairs garage. It also means Kurt is about fifteen miles away from his best friend, Mercedes, who hasn't even got a car to make the distance shorter.

Kurt miserably looks down at his wrist. He's going to have a hard time convincing his dad to let him drive while injured.

His dad opens his door and pulls the brim on his hat. Kurt grimaces.

"I am capable of opening a door by myself." He mutters, getting his first look at the detached two storey house he will soon call home.

"Now, be nice Kurt." His dad leads them up the driveway towards the porch and to the people standing (and waving) on it.

Kurt is a little irked that the first time he's going to look around his future home it will be chaperoned by it's current owner and her slightly attractive son.

"Crap." Kurt quickly steps after his dad, head ducked and forcing himself to look interested in the grass.

i'Of all of the days to look like a mess...'/i Kurt winces as the owners; a woman who introduces herself as Carole and 'i...my son Finn!/i'; get a better view at his multi-coloured face and poorly accessorized wrist support.

He's yet to find a material that suits his entire wardrobe to wrap around the support and doesn't sparkle.

"...my son Kurt." His dad, or Burt as Carole casually calls him - which seems to confuse Finn - gestures to him.

He politely smiles at them but doesn't speak. He doesn't need them judging him before they've even sold their house.

Well, anymore than their concerned faces already are. It's mortifying enough to have to come out side with his appearance screaming 'roughed up by small-minded people' and pathetic; while his dad makes vague excuses. Kurt ends up glaring more when Finn's sympathetic expression deepens, like he's mentally saying 'that sucks, I know how you feel'. As if; Kurt pushes past his initial attraction to the boy. He's probably a football player anyway.

Though the alternative of watching his dad smile at Carole makes him turn his eyes around the hallway nervously. There are a few pictures still up ready to be taken down and boxes line the edges of the

walls.

"Finn, why don't you show Kurt around the rest of the house?"

Kurt's head shoots up, it has to - he can't really see Finn from his eye level - at the voice. Finn wears a smile of politeness tinted with an aloof feeling Kurt can't help but find endearing. For a few seconds.

"Sure. Follow me dude."

Kurt helplessly glances to his dad in the hope that he'll object or offer to come with them. But he waves him after Finn. Kurt wraps his arms around his chest and steels his gaze. Finn is already leading them into the kitchen and announcing in what he assumes is a cheery voice that this is where the 'delicious snacks live'.

Not for Kurt. He's on a strict diet.

center~/center

"...and this is the room I swapped into when I outgrew the cowboy wallpaper and we got new neighbors." Finn's stupid smile seems to get even bigger as he opens the door for Kurt to walk in.

The room has a lack of cowboy wallpaper. That puts Kurt at a little ease. He almost ripped his eyes out in sheer horror over most of the decorations in Finn's old room.

"Once all the boxes go it'll get bigger." Finn points out. He moves past Kurt, brushing him slightly to hover by the window. Kurt freezes up at the contact and has to remember to breathe. "Um, there's a sink over there. Your dad mentioned you'd be happy about that, so I guess this'll be your room."

It's big and the white walls allow him to think about all the different colour schemes and materials he can possibly douse himself in for the rest of summer. There's a mirror over the sink that looks like it's never been cleaned; he puts that on his to-do list.

Finn watches him curiously as Kurt shuffles around. He keeps his arms close to him and doesn't make eye contact. His shoes click like stiletto heels, he wishes they didn't.

Kurt finally opens his mouth to speak for the first time since leaving the car.

"It's spacious," Finn's eyes widen over his words. ", and I do feel like there's a good flow of chi in here."

Kurt spies Finn smiling again. Did the man-child not have any other facial expressions?

"So you do speak?" Finn jokes. Kurt lets out a sniff that hides how worried he was that the boy was going to say something else. "Sorry. Well I don't know about chi or whatever but it's good to just chill out in here."

The sunlight fills up the room nicely and Kurt starts to imagine putting his desk next to the window to take full advantage of the breeze. His dad isn't getting around to fixing the AC until the second month in.

"Hey Kurt." Finn's low voice makes him turn and tingle in places that he's tried to repress since finishing sophomore year. For his own safety. "Um, just a suggestion though? Guy-to-guy?"

Kurt's throat dries at the last words inappropriately.

"This room has an...awesome view." The boy's eyes glaze over and Kurt frowns. It's just a room. He takes a quick glimpse out of the window while Finn reminicses to see the house next door, their garden, and the lush trees that disappear almost into the horizon. They're the last rows of houses for miles.

"Thank you for showing me around Finn. You're...really cool." He adds awkwardly, used to actually interacting with members of sports-teams or attractive boys that don't plan on pummeling him to the ground or smashing up his car.

Finn brightens and takes a step forward. Kurt can't get over how tall he is.

"It's cool. I'm pretty good at showing people around now and like, opening doors."

Kurt feels his gaze land on his face and his wrist again. He stiffens. This isn't a conversation he wants to get into with an obviously straight stranger. Especially when his dad has yet to finalize the sale on the house.

Instead he puts on his least patronizing smirk and answers calmly; "I'm sure that'll come in very useful for you, later in life. Let's go find our parents."

center~/center

Finn's hulking body and smile haunt his fantasies in the days before they move in. Kurt writhes in his old bed and counts down until he'll be able to start all over in a new part of town.

Little 'X's on his calender grow more frequent and when the day arrives, and all of his possessions have been loaded onto the moving van, Kurt can't remember what Finn looked like.

center~/center

The only thing that's fully unpacked in his room, bar his bed, is his desk. Even that is positioned in the middle of the room as he's laid down old sheets over the carpet. He'll get around to ripping that up and replacing it with laminate flooring once he's finished painting the walls.

It'll take him longer because of his arm, but in all honesty that's what he wants. He wants it too take a while to get everything perfect because as soon as he's finished it means he's got to go back outside. Back into the world and the shops and the places filled with his tormentors.

Kurt stares down at several tins of grey ranging in shades such as 'Rose quartz' and 'taupe'.

Just because he's moved, doesn't mean they won't find him. Even if it means driving miles to get at him. The longer he stays locked away in his room painting and primping, the harder it will be for them to find him.

It just means he has to refuse help from his dad. Nothing new.

Clumsily he pries off the lid of 'Battleship grey' and slowly pours it into his paint tray. The gloopy mixture spreads over the tray unevenly. Kurt uses the rolling brush to displace the paint more equally.

There's a heavy knock on his door after Kurt makes the first stroke of paint to the wall, covering the practice strips he'd used to test what colour pallet he'd wanted.

Burt steps across the threshold and nods his head around the room. It's getting closer to the evening sky. The light in the room is starting to dim and humid air leaks in from the opened window.

"Getting started with the decorating?" He asks. His dad has already hired people to re-do the bathroom they have to share on Kurt's request. The hallway has new flooring and Kurt knows his dad has been setting his sights on some other rooms before he has to begin more work on his second garage business.

"Yes. The sooner I get it done, the sooner I can measure for...shelves." Kurt mentally curses his response and makes haste on more painting while his dad watches.

"Right, I'll have to help you do that." Kurt stops ready to protest. Burt raises his hands a little defensively. "Just to put them up. You gotta still take it easy."

Kurt straightens his back and tugs his coveralls, the ones he uses to help out in his dad's garage, with his injured hand. "I'll be sure to get you when they need putting up then."

He turns his back to his dad again and concentrates on painting. Each roll of the brush is perfectly parallel to the next.

"Kurt."

He doesn't want to act like this. He doesn't like shutting his dad out. He doesn't."

"Dad."

But he didn't want to have to come out to his dad in a hospital emergency room while someone stitched the cut on his eyebrow ,left when one homophobic jerk decided to kick him in the face before blackening his eye more.

He didn't want one of the most important conversations of his life to be dictated by the members of the football team, and their actions, like it was.

Kurt just wishes he could have told his dad a different way and not have it weighted with the evidence that his only son couldn't stand up for himself. The wrist support feels hot and itchy as he reflects on this.

"I'm okay." He mutters to the wall. The grey fills his vision like it has done with the rest of his life. He's not outlined in black or white. He's destined to walk the lines of grey for the rest of his life.

Burt scuffs his shoes on the covered floor and coughs. He's hiding his concern, just like Kurt does.

"I'm gonna run out and get take-out. There's nothing in the fridge. Do you want me to pick you up something healthy?"

Kurt's heart tightens for his father.

"Anything without bread or something that's not fried." He whispers as a tear escapes down his face.

"Not giving me much of a choice there buddy." Burt laughs once but retreats, closing the door with him.

Kurt pushes the rolling brush against the wall again and thinks about how he never gives his dad enough choices when it comes to him.

center~/center

It becomes a slow routine.

Kurt wakes up in the mornings and rummages through boxes of belongings to scavenge for his face creams and moisturizers to start the day. Before sitting down to an anxious breakfast in which he doesn't make much conversation and his dad talks about work.

It usually ends with Kurt silently walking back upstairs to avoid his father's suggestions of maybe getting to know people on the street.

It's not that he doesn't want to. But he doesn't want to.

The rest of the day is spent tediously painting his walls and listening to Madonna's greatest hits. Kurt's careful not to linger by the window in case his neighbors assume things about his taste in music.

Unfortunately the slow routine isn't slow enough and in three days Kurt steps back in mild confusion to see that his walls are covered in complimentary shades of grey. It's too soon.

His mild panic of 'what now?' is only stopped when he goes to wash his face in an attempt to quell his anxiety. He looks up and can't see his reflection in the mirror.

Something else he can do.

An uninjured hand arms itself with a duster and Kurt's other hand is able to carry around the bottle of all-surfaces cleaner painlessly enough.

It takes him almost an hour to shift the grime off the mirror, leading Kurt to wonder exactly how hygienic this Finn character was, but it's oddly therapeutic. He finds himself almost smiling as his face becomes clearer and clearer in the mirror.

However the expression is short-lived as he realizes that his black eye hasn't healed as much as he'd hoped.

Kurt's fingers come up to touch at the edges of the colour on his face. He winces at the tender skin there.

His mind flashes backward and suddenly his bag is being ripped off his arm, taking half of his expensive McQueen jumper with it, before he's spun to face his tormentor.

Kurt keeps staring at his face in the mirror, willing himself to stop remembering it all again.

Nothing works.

The name of the bully echoes in his mind but he can't acknowledge it. All he can see is the arrogant smirk and tuft of hair coming over his face. And then he hits the ground.

Mud splattered against his teeth before the stud of a football boot collided with the side of his forehead.

Kurt's eyes travel to the top of his black eye; there's a small white scar there now, from the kick, that parts his once perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Then his attacker had laughed as Kurt had tried to roll onto his back. The last etch of Kurt's memory before he'd gotten up to fight back for once in his life, was of the boy swiping a hand through his blond fringe and leering down on him.

Leering at his body.

It's made Kurt feel dirty for weeks. It's pissed him off for weeks, at how he was treated for his sexuality and degraded for it, for that guy to look at him like a piece of meat he'd want nothing more than to have. Except 'have' for him probably spelt out something more dangerous in Kurt's view.

His face is sharper in the mirror now. The flashback recedes enough for Kurt's heart to stop hammering until the blond colour swishes in the corner of the glass.

He stares in fright at the colour in the top of the mirror wondering how the hell they've found him before he realizes that it's not reflecting inside his bedroom from that angle.

Kurt cranes his neck around and studies the direction the blond seems to come from. His careful footsteps lead him further away from his mirror, to the opposite wall, and out of his window.

The window is still dusty and stiff to open. He swipes the cloth in his hand over the muck enough for him to see out.

Kurt sees the blond again. But unlike in his nightmares it's not flopping down the forehead of some hot-shot jock but pulled back into a tight ponytail and trailing down the back of a girl's neck.

His troubles end there momentarily and Kurt slides down the wall next to his window, still looking out, but his legs no longer able to support him.

Distantly he remembers Finn mentioning something about the neighbors and how he'd swapped rooms when they'd arrived.

Kurt bites his lip and shifts into a more comfortable kneeling position; he hopes they aren't into loud music.

Curiosity overtakes his desire to continue working and Kurt peers out of his window to the blond girl to take her appearance in.

Despite school being out, and Kurt's lack of knowledge in the area, he assumes the red and white heel and sleeveless ensemble she wears is a uniform. A cheerleading uniform to be exact.

His first urge overwhelms him and he critically wonders about the breathability of the outfit she's wearing rather than why she's wearing it during summer. There's another time for that.

The pleated skirt would scream catholic school girl if it weren't for the lack of knee highs and the gracious favor of it being all red.

The cheerleader turns her body towards the window, like she's showing something off to him or to whoever else is in the room with her (Kurt quickly puts that thought out of his mind), and he makes out the lettering on her top.

i'WMHS'/i

He has a mixed reaction; partly he's impressed at the colour scheme his new school has going on for their extra-curricular squads as they're a far shy from the blue uniforms at his old school. And then he's partly frozen in his spot because this girl might become a part of a new harem of tyrants he could possibly have to deal with.

It's a double edged sword that the girl dances on.

His analysis of her appearance stops abruptly when she chooses the moment to twirl around. It's a graceful movement, that later he will wonder upon her being a dancer, that sends the pleats of her skirt flourishing off her legs revealing more than he wants to see.

Apparently someone else thinks so too; a tan arm reaches out to the front of the dancing girl's skirt and pulls her away, leaving Kurt with a view of the girl's bed in the background and no further glimpses of long girlish legs and what's hidden under skirts.

His face burns with something other than anger for the first time in weeks as he suddenly realizes what Finn meant by the view.

center~/center

He brings it up at breakfast to his dad.

"We have neighbors." Kurt states. Burt peeks over the top of his paper wordlessly, as if he's still registering that Kurt has attempted to make conversation for once. "Next door."

Kurt leaves out that part about the skirt and the twirling because that doesn't really appeal to him.

"Yeah. I said hello to them the other day." Burt eyes him as he flips over a page. The headline says something about a predicted heat wave. "Nice people, they have a daughter. But ah, I couldn't pronounce their last name if you asked me."

Kurt slips his spoon into his soggy cereal. "Why's that?"

Burt shrugs and puts down his paper. "Foreign." He says without so much as a bat of an eye. "Sounds Dutch I think."

Kurt nods and stares seamlessly into his cereal in bored hope that it would give him something to do today. Burt, sensing his son has asked all he wants to, picks up his paper and mutters about sprinkler bans.

center~/center

He doesn't see the blond girl for an extended period of time, except in the mornings when he thankfully only catches glimpses of her when she's already dressed.

He's starting to resent Finn just a little. Sure he seemed like a nice (straight) guy but a part of Kurt holds him responsible for coercing him into choosing the room with the view - which isn't just the landscape surrounding the houses.

Other than that he doesn't see her. He doesn't even know her name.

center~/center

Kurt misses Mercedes. It's not the same to stay up all night on phones, twitter, skype and facebook; sharing conversations and gossip - mostly on Mercedes' side because Kurt hasn't been out to experience gossip - when he can't get up in the middle of the night and see her.

He could but it would probably take him half the night to get there.

He's had to cling to her words about what's been happening now that he's gone. Mostly whether or not Jock 1.0 and his team have noticed he's fled.

Fled is a strong word.

Kurt can tell that Mercedes isn't thrilled that he left. She's got friends, and she enjoys hanging in limbo between the bottom of the social pile and the penthouse, but they're best friends.

And Kurt feels responsible for putting a strain on that bond so much so he's standing in the middle of a crowded shopping mall, knee deep in bags filled with clothes long overdue from being bought, with a phone attached to his ear.

"Is it pink?" Kurt asks, checking his nails and keeping an eye on his bags. "What kind of stripes?"

His people-radar keeps blaring up as they walk in and around his personal bubble. He's waiting for the crowd of teenagers to disperse from the food court before he claims a table to sit down and eat.

Kurt is all to aware that he's still overly wary of being surrounded by people. Anxiety that hasn't left his body yet rules his motions.

So far he's not having much luck as the girl's who surround a boy with a mohawk look to have no intention of getting up and leaving with him. Kurt hides his glare for the boy with the glare he has for Mercedes' not taking his advice over the phone.

"Put it down. It's pink and has zebra stripes." Kurt reasons.

Somewhere in a similar shopping mall a long distance away Mercedes' is holding an item of clothing matching his description and calling him a 'hater'.

It makes him wish even more he was with her. Stopping her from making bad fashion choices was so much easier when he could take the clothes off her. Or burn them.

Instead he's stuck trying to use his powers of persuasion to talk her out of buying something horrendous and convince her of the benefits of investing in platform heels. And he's not just talking about that for her sake.

Mercedes is well into the middle of a rant as to why she should buy the pink zebra concoction when mohawk boy and his legion of miniskirts uproot themselves from the table and exit towards him.

He's suddenly glad Mercedes has control of the conversation when the boy has to pass him. There's a half terrifying, half intriguing second when the boy's eyes land on him and his bags and curls his lip. Kurt can't even think.

"Noah, come on. We're late." Chirps the nearest mini-skirted companion. Kurt is able to catch her eye before she drags 'Noah' away and regain his standing.

Mercedes rambles on in his ear as Kurt lets his gaze follow the boy. He doesn't smile but he has the feeling of one fluttering in his chest. It's stupid to think that the boy was interested in him in anyway, judging from the girls on his arms and the fact that Kurt knows he is a very refined taste, but it made him feel better.

"Mercedes? There is definitely something in the water in Lima, Ohio." He breathes out grabbing his bags on one arm.

She forgets all about the hideous jacket she was considering buying to question Kurt on his statement. It's almost as good as her being next to him, but not quite.

They're still on the phone when his dad shows up to relieve him of his bags and take him home. In the rear-view mirror Kurt can see a small amount of solace in his dad's face, and he knows it's because he thinks Kurt is happy.

Kurt doesn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.

center~/center

Somehow he single-handedly manages to sort through the mass of jumpers, shirts, ties, jeans and shoes he's acquired throughout the day onto hangers and into shoeboxes.

Nothing is going back. Everything fits him perfectly; the only upside of the attack being Kurt hasn't had much of an appetite for months.

He brushes his hand over the fake-fur of one of his coats. He's a healthy weight, not dangerous or bordering anything, and he's good with that. The only problem he does have with it all is that he has no idea when his appetite will come back.

Or if the move and the attack has finally succeeded in making him feel and taste as bland as people would wish him to be. The clothes, on the other hand, free him from becoming that.

He'll still make a spectacle of himself in what he wears even if he doesn't want people to know. It's just who he is.

"Everyday is an opportunity for fashion." He murmurs letting go of the sleeve. He'd said that to Mercedes once, as they'd linked arms to Spanish, convincing her that she shouldn't be afraid to wear what she wanted.

He hadn't told her that the following lunch period someone had slushied him, purposely, and ruined the cream shirt she'd bought him for his birthday.

Sighs take him to the stool in front of his mirror. The day at the mall has brought out lines only he can see. Kurt has long forgotten the fluttery feeling in his stomach and the face of the boy that had looked at him.

All he can remember is the hollow feeling in his stomach as he'd walked in and out of shops trying to describe his trip to Mercedes, instead of having her there next to him.

Kurt rubs cream underneath his eyes, lightly pressing on his still-purple-one, and studies himself in the mirror. He's not vain, in fact he's very critical.

Blame years of boys and girls telling him that he's dirty, or ugly, or even 'pretty'. He's not pretty.

He doesn't like the scar on his eyebrow. He has days were his hair just refuses to co-operate with him. The sun brings out a plague of freckles on his face and like most teenagers he struggles with breakouts of acne that he usually covers with foundation and detoxes with water. Also, he has pear hips.

Kurt has a love/hate relationship with critical. It's both a blessing and a curse.

He twists the tap to let out a stream of warm water to soak into his small make-up sponge. He wipes away the excess moisturizer off his face as well as the cover-up he used on his eye in the morning. Maybe that was what 'Noah' had stared at while he passed.

Kurt's mood plummets.

Frustrated he sets the sponge down and harshly dabs the water off his face with a towel. How stupid was he to think that the guy had actually-? Urgh.

A stray hair falls out of the headband he's used to pull his hair back. He glowers at it; and in doing so he catches the glow of a bedroom light flickering in the background behind him. From across the room.

On turning he can see out of his window to the bedroom of his unnamed-blond neighbor.

Kurt doesn't understand why but he finds himself sitting there, observing her.

The girl stares off into the distance of her own room, her mouth moving at a slow or thoughtful pace. Kurt can't help himself again as he looks at her sleepwear. It's safer to look at that the cheer-uniform at least. Sweatpants and a tank top that leaves a strip of skin exposing the girl's stomach.

She's slim. Streamline even. Kurt subconsciously feels his hands trail over his own stomach, comparing.

He groans at the bubble of envy that sprouts in his mind. It shouldn't be there; and not even for reasons that people could give him. One; she's a girl, he's a boy (as much as people liked to suggest otherwise), they have two totally different body types. It would probably be near impossible for Kurt to reach the girl's level of slimness. And he's not insecure enough to try.

And two; he really shouldn't feel envy. It's not odd to him; Kurt's had enough girls as friends who've invited him for sleepovers to be well aware of what their bodies look like. And he's fitted clothes for Mercedes enough to know what they feel like.

But to most of the world he is an oddity. He's odd because he looks at girls and doesn't desire them. He's odd because he's sitting in his room, like Finn once had, and is looking at a girl that any straight man would be going crazy for, and he's only interested in her clothes and her waistline. And not how to get her into his bed.

It's not odd to him though. He can't feel more than a mild admiration for her body and her grace even if he imagines it.

And despite what the rest of the close-minded world might think, he's okay with that.

center~/center

Her name is Brittany.

At least that's what she called out to him over the white picket fence separating their houses as he appeased his dad by dumping the trash out on the sidewalk. She looked happy enough to see him, in a way he assumes people can be to see total strangers, and waved him over.

She has the blondest hair he's ever seen, even blonder up close, and the biggest carefree grin. He's jealous of her for that as well.

He can't even remember a word she said to him, something about kittens and rainbows, but his dad smiled from the porch so he didn't move.

She doesn't offer to shake his hand or exchange phone numbers but she lights up the space around him with a warmth that he's never experienced before.

In five minutes she managed to get under his skin in a curious way. It almost makes him want to go outside more. Almost.

center~/center

He'd thought, way back when, that Finn's remark about his room having a 'view' emerged and ended with the discovery of Brittany.

Kurt has learnt in three weeks of living mostly with himself, alone, in his room, that she loves nothing more than walking around her room in various states of undress.

Usually when Kurt happens to be drinking or eating causing him to choke unceremoniously for fitful seconds.

But he can't exactly bring this to her attention. Kurt justifies this as protecting the 'guy-to-guy' pact Finn had entered with him. As little of a thing as it was, the fact Finn had let him in on the piece of information was a far sight more than other guys had been willing to share with him. Plus he doesn't know if Brittany knows Finn, and if she does then the fact that Finn had probably watched her in 'various states of undress' might throw him in a load of crap with Brittany.

And Kurt isn't keen on doing that, even though the thought of what Finn might have sat in this very room and done while watching Brittany...

He doesn't let himself think about that.

In conclusion, Kurt assumes, that Brittany was the view.

Except he's apparently only been watching the view through a letterbox shaped screen.

center~/center

His shelves are perfectly straight and fitted in the places he wanted them. They actually have books on them now; from his proud stance in the middle of the room he can see titles like the obligatory 'Harry Potter' books, collections of textbooks, sheet music for the 'Sound of Music', 'Wicked' and 'Spring Awakening'.

His CD's are free from their boxes and his impressive sound system no longer has a thin layer of dust on top of it.

Save for a few unrolled posters of Zac Efron and Justin Timberlake, which he has yet found the courage to pin up while his dad is about, his room is practically finished.

Which means his self-imposed exile is going to be harder to explain. His dad had mentioned that, pressing yet curious, at dinner.

Kurt doesn't really know what to do with himself now. He doesn't have any friends here, and refuses to resort to facebook's attempts to find people for him, and Mercedes still can't make the trip to come and brave the new world with him.

blockquote

"What about that girl?" Burt suggests, pointing his knife vaguely in the direction of the house next to them, through the wall of the kitchen. "The one you talked to when you took out the trash. She seems nice."

Kurt purses his lip and forces the food in his mouth down his throat. "I barely know her. And we haven't spoken since."

"She seems nice." Burt repeats and Kurt ignores him. /blockquote

He swivels on his raised heels and looks to the window. Brittany is a possibility even if he has no clue about her other than the fact her name is Brittany and Finn obviously used to jerk off to her at night.

He shivers away that wrong feeling.

She did seem nice. She also seemed oblivious to him; not that his forehead is stamped with 'I am gay' or anything but usually when people spoke to him they picked up a little idea that he might. It's usually because of his voice.

Kurt hums 'One Short Day' under his breath as Brittany strolls into his view. He's so immersed in the humming that it takes a second to realize she's not alone. The mysterious person, if it's the same one, Brittany talks to follows behind her and rests on the edge of Brittany's bed while the blond lets her hair down.

Kurt's eye zones in on the newcomer. She's shorter than Brittany but in no way does Kurt think that she possesses the same personality as her. In fact judging from the crease in her forehead, Kurt assumes she's the dominant personality. Her hair is already teeming over her shoulders; another difference to Brittany. It looks black and sleek from what Kurt can see. Like Mercedes', yet Kurt finds himself wanting to run his hands through it, or style it for her.

They're both in sweats for sleepwear. He notices how at ease they seem around each other; the mysteriously tan skinned girl leans back on her elbows and says something to Brittany. Brittany laughs.

For a second time Kurt feels an envy rise by watching; this time because he misses being at such ease, he misses Mercedes.

Even before his dad had found out about his sexuality he'd allowed Mercedes to stay over and watch movies and secretly put on fashion shows and dance to Beyonce videos; in hindsight Burt had probably had an inkling to Kurt's preference but for the sake of his memories Kurt overlooks that.

The easy scene playing out in Brittany's bedroom almost mirrors hundreds previous in Kurt's old basement room. Mercedes would be the one laying on the bed while Kurt removed whatever make-up he'd put on to re-create videos or costumes.

There had been one long night were they hadn't turned in until they'd finished choreographing and recording Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance' complete with sparkling face jewels and crazy hair pieces. He still has the video saved on his computer, but can't be dared to post it to Youtube.

Nights like that had made the pain of waking up in the morning boyfriend-less and in the closet for school, worth it.

He loses most of himself to his daydreams of 'a time before...' when some part of his consciousness catches a glimpse of Brittany half-clambering onto the girl's lap before attaching a craving kiss to her lips.

He's still replaying Mercedes shock of him managing to walk in ten inch heels when something in the front of his mind starts to flash and bleep for his attention.

By then the kiss is a far cry from anything that can be considered 'friendly'. Brittany's hands are rushing through the other girl's black locks and the self-satisfied smirks they wear suggest so much more to come.

Kurt gapes with an open mouth as all thoughts of Mercedes fly from him. He's sucked into the present and to the visual imagery playing out before him.

He fails to form words at it all and stumbles back, tripping over his vanity stool and sprawling to the floor. Kurt winces out curses as silently as possible as his sprained hand tried to save him from the fall.

Kurt doesn't even want to get up for fear that they've somehow managed to hear him through the walls and the air and a second wall. As nice as Brittany seemed, the other girl doesn't look as forgiving.

He waits, freaking out because he didn't suspect that (why didn't he suspect that? Is his gaydar off?), lengthy minutes filled with his brain replaying the kiss in his head before judging whether or not it is safe.

Crawling on his knees he works his way out of sight of the window and to his bed. His wrist throbs painfully over the impact of the fall. He's glad that the noise didn't attract his dad. There's just no serious way to explain.

i'Sorry dad, I accidentally fell over my stool because I was watching Brittany make out with her girlfriend and it surprised me. She seemed like such a nice girl right?'/i

Even in his head it sounds sarcastic.

Nervously he glances to the window. Now he's stuck; for some reason he wants to check again to see if they've heard him, but on the other hand he'd rather just sleep it all off and wake up thinking it's all a dream.

A very stereotypical hetero-porno type of dream. Probably directed by Katy Perry.

Luckily, or not, his dad makes that choice for him.

"Kurt!"

In the seconds Kurt hears his dad's footsteps hit the hallway outside he's launched himself across the room to pull over his curtain. He registers that the light in Brittany's room is now out and he doesn't know what to make of that really.

"Kurt."

Burt stands in the open doorway. Kurt feels his face burn and he's sweaty.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine. I was just closing the window and tidying. I'm good." Kurt says in a jumble. There's obviously nothing suspicious about that.

Burt nods along. "Alright, I came up to see if you wanted to watch the TV. That show you like is on."

Kurt forces himself to act normal and brightens. "American Idol?"

"That's the one with the singing right?"

"Yeah dad."

Burt gives him a final shake of his head and backs away. "Do you want me to make snacks for you before I hit the hay? I bought some of those eh," He rolls his hands as he thinks of what he's bought for Kurt. "Kisses."

"Kisses?" Kurt pales and he feels another hot burst light in his cheeks. He can't know. He can't.

"Yeah, the Hershey ones." Burt finally names them. "I put them in the fridge if you want them."

"Thanks Dad." Kurt weakly smiles until his dad has walked away before deflating and rubbing his face with his hand.

There is no way he'll be able to eat Hershey Kisses again without the added mental imagery.

i'Thank you Finn.' /iHe curses before shooting the window a last look and escaping downstairs.

center~/center

Kurt comes to a realization pretty quickly about his neighbor.

She's probably (he's still speculating) gay. And if not totally then partly.

He's come to this conclusion through various stumbles upon his window. In which he's derived that Brittany and the other girl spend most of their time switching between dancing, trying on clothes and making out.

Kurt usually leaves the room when the variations of the three start to escalate into the same thing.

One thing that keeps popping up in his head though, thanks to Finn's remark as well, is that there are probably millions of guys in the world who would kill to be in his bedroom right now. Not only is that a fun thought to entertain but it's also incredibly ironic.

center~/center

Kurt blames curiosity. And Finn.

The first time he sees Brittany and her girlfriend have sex it's a complete accident.

He's organizing magazines on his desk in order of titles when he turns and sees a bright red jersey with a white number '6' on it.

A football jersey that encased the tall, leggy dancer that Kurt has come to know as his neighbor Brittany. That's all he really sees at first; her standing in a uniform. A full uniform, Kurt notices, complete with the padded pants. As well as a pair of heels that would be impossible to play football in.

That should have been his first sign really.

However the combination of jersey, pants and fantastic heels manages to blind him as her Latina struts in behind her and pulls her into a chaste kiss that soon turns heated.

Brittany's hands slip underneath her top and trails her skin. In return hands slide over Brittany's flat chest and around, down and over her ass. That's when Kurt sees where they're planning to go. Yet he doesn't attempt to flee the room as he would have days ago.

In lieu his mind searches for a lost train of thought.

It's not the first time he's wondered what it would be like to be a girl. He's read enough magazines and looked at enough women; their clothes and their shapes, that he's probably more skilled in their mannerisms and feelings than he is as a boy. Sometimes. He's wished it enough in desperation on nights after days when his dad hasn't hidden his confusion fast enough or he passes by a boy that makes his heart jump, but would never look twice at him.

He knows it would be easier.

But watching Brittany, in a red football jersey that comes over her knees, push her girl; clad in the cliche of a cheerleading uniform back onto her bed Kurt wonders something else entirely.

Between the moving hands and intense looks. To the way their bodies merge together. To the first time Kurt sees their lips touch and kiss.

Kurt wonders what it feels like for a girl.

Brittany's hands push up the cheerleader's skirt until they should meet some other clothing. Kurt swallows when they don't. Brittany is between her legs, kneeling above her and saying something that Kurt's ears probably couldn't handle, until the girl's hand tugs at the waistband of Brittany's padded pants.

The jersey is like water over Brittany's body and Kurt wants to touch the material and feel it almost as much as the cheerleader beneath Brittany wants it on her bare skin.

Kurt isn't oblivious to the suggestive way Brittany's hand disappears under the skirt or the sudden canting of hips together. They move so effortlessly and in sync that Kurt almost doesn't believe it's real.

He only feels slightly trashy and perverse watching them, because they're girls and he doesn't exactly get it up for them, as he keeps his eyes trained on the lower stomach and crotch of Brittany's football uniform.

It's enough visual stimulation for him to imagine something more masculine beneath those clothes and he whimpers involuntarily at the twinge in his cock.

He stops the thoughts. It's not about him at all, and he's certainly not going to sit there and objectify Brittany and the other girl for his own deranged love for football uniforms. Kurt doesn't want to get anything from this other than the tinge of awe at watching something he'll never be apart of; like going back in time or watching sports.

Brittany's hands grab underneath the cheerleader's lower back and rocks into her firmly yet slowly. The girl's mouth goes slack and eyes close until she's suddenly grasping at Brittany's jersey and trying to pull it over her head.

Kurt notes with interest that the uniform situation didn't end with the clothes but that Brittany's chest has been bound. Her shoulders are broad and strong. The thrusting continues. Legs are wrapped around Brittany's back and Kurt realizes that there iis/i something more masculine under her clothes as he spies a black strap cutting into Brittany's hip from under her pants.

His lips are dry as he witnesses them together. Brittany adjusts as the cheerleader pulls herself onto Brittany's knelt lap and continues. There isn't a trace of discomfort in their eyes as they kiss and move together, faster and faster.

Kurt feels himself on edge, not of pleasure but of suspense. He can't comprehend it fully as window panes and space separates him from their shuddering penetration and slick girlish heat. They don't take their eyes off each other.

Brittany gazes up at the girl, and into her eyes, with every upward buck of her hips. Each action causes an equal reaction in the girl's face. Kurt may not be able to feel it but he can see the frustration of the friction slip slowly away with every jolt.

It's an intoxication for them. His breath fogs up the window and reminds him that he's a spectator. Albeit their show isn't stirring anything below his waist he can still appreciate them. Though they might not be his ideal main event but their performance leaves him short of breath and flushing in a way usually reserved for his own thoughts and hands at night.

He leaves his chair at the window when the lights cease to fill the room and Kurt can only see the outlines of their bodies.

Brittany's hand entwines over her girl and into slumber.

center~/center

Though he hasn't always been able to verbalize it, because he couldn't speak much when he was three let alone know what 'gay' meant, but he's known his whole life. Sensible heels and all.

Kurt is gay. He's gay. He is so very, very gay. Totally. 100%. Even his dad, as unexpected as he'd had to find out, has started to accept that.

Granted he's not going to tell his dad this but he has proof. He's received 3/4 of a blow job from a guy, who backed out when it mattered the most, and liked it.

Nevertheless the images from last night keep reeling in his mind even as the football uniform was removed and the girl's bodies roamed. Skin that didn't do anything for him was revealed and his interest should have flopped, both literally and metaphorically, once it appeared but it didn't.

Unfortunately he isn't able to remove the ongoing repetition of events inside his head during breakfast, sitting opposite his dad who has forgone his paper in favor of talking to him.

"You need to get some sun on your face." Burt suggests from his place. He motions to Kurt's pale demeanor like it's really the lack of sun that's bothering him. "You're startin' to look like one of those sparkling kids that're always on the adverts."

His dad did inot/i just compare him to a creation of Stephanie Meyer.

"I'm fine dad." He tries to play off and ignore the generic logo of a football team on his dad's hat. Stop thinking.

"You'd be fine with a tan too." Burt mutters rolling his eyes at his son. "I don't get what's so entertaining about sitting in your room all day when you could be outside, I dunno-"

Kurt raises his eyebrow prompting his father to even think about suggesting any form of sport.

"-tanning."

There's a small amount of pity Kurt feels for his dad to have sunk so low as to suggest that. It wouldn't hurt too much to appease him.

The sun rises higher and makes good on the promise of the heat wave the news has been talking about. Kurt no longer has an excuse to not break out the pair of khakis he bought during his last mall trip with Mercedes, when she was actually there, and the sun glasses he bought off Lady Gaga's online store.

He proceeds to plaster most of his skin in the highest number sun block he owns because he's not risking the danger of his skin reddening to lobster standards. And tan isn't really his thing.

The tan colour flashes past his thoughts again and he's suddenly groaning into his hands at the reappearance of the images. Brittany and the girl. The bed. The uniform.

He needs to stop thinking about it. People might think he's questioning his sexuality or something.

Kurt perches himself, his phone and several varieties of magazines in the lone deck chair in their garden. They don't have an above ground pool like their neighbors, meaning Burt can clearly see he's sitting outside. In the sun.

There's a small debate he weighs out as he flips past the advertisements for Gucci and D&G in Vogue about calling Mercedes. In the end though Kurt doesn't think he could bare having to sit out in the sun and listen to everything she's been doing with Tina and how cute Matt Rutherford is looking.

Kurt misses looking at Matt Rutherford.

He's halfway through a delightful daydream before he's interrupted; Matt had gratefully swooped in to steer him away from an oncoming basketball team and into a deserted gym. He'd looked gorgeous in his own letterman jacket as he'd beamed down chivalrously on Kurt. There may have been swooning, on Kurt's part, and hand holding.

"San!"

Kurt jumps embarrassingly when the voice cuts through his time with Matt. He blushes like he's been out in the sun longer than he has and coughs uncontrollably. The fence that separates his back garden from Brittany's is quite low but thankfully the girl hasn't seen his freak out.

He just manages to stop his heart hammering when Brittany's friend 'San' strolls into her yard. It's a hot day and obviously Kurt's luck has them both kitted out in red bikinis.

"B, you better have sunblock on." San warns. Kurt shifts uncomfortably in his chair and tries to look enthralled with Vogue's article on 'The pursuit of fabulous-ness'.

"What if I forgot?" Brittany's voice teases and Kurt helplessly wants to disappear. Curse his dad.

From the corner of his eye he can just about see 'San' holding the sunblock in her hand. He doesn't like where this is going.

"You'll burn up."

"Like the sun?"

"Way hotter."

Kurt can't fathom how they're making this sound so suggestive.

"B,"

Brittany bounces over to 'San' seemingly to the beat of her own drum until she's practically pressed up against the girl. The sunblock is crushed between them.

Soft utterances escape his ears but his eyes show him their secret smiles and teasing touches. Brittany scans around her, over the top of Kurt's head, before sweetly kissing 'San'.

Kurt can't move now without alerting them to his presence.

"Can you reach my back?"

Damn.

_center~/center_

Somehow watching them becomes a strange hobby he engages in. Or rather doesn't engage in.

He's doing it in the least creepy way as possible. He reasons to himself that it's not as bad as Finn watching them, because of the subtle differences that he's immune to them in the way other men aren't. Or other girls for that matter.

The glimpses he sees of them aren't just when they hook-up. They spend time lounging in deck chairs by the pool in Brittany's back garden. He sees them walking down the street, pinkie fingers linked and stepping in time with each other, while he grabs the mail or checks inside his car for his iPod.

Within the observations he conclude and discovers a lot of things. Brittany is outgoing. The sound of her laughter is warm like sunshine and the word 'duck' is apart of her everyday vocabulary.

Brittany's girlfriend's name is Santana. She proves him right in being the dominant personality. She walks with her head held high constantly and she's got arms that look like they could crack him like a nut.

Yet Brittany is her weakness. At first Kurt didn't notice; he was content to let them play out without serious thought to their actual relationship.

To see linking arms and whispers pressed like kisses into necks. To speculate about where the line of best friend and lover fell. Where fingers pulling at pleats of skirts or strings of bikini tops stopped being playful and ventured into wanting.

Then it delved deeper. Overheard conversations on back porches about a future for them, about what Santana wants for Brittany and what Brittany wants for 'S'. Conversations and promised words that left him stunned and crying over exactly what it all meant.

And what he didn't have.

They morph into his mind. They're untouchable celebrity-like figures with the looks to match, who the likes of Kurt read about in magazines and online and have to step away from their own lives and to a window to ever experience.

Against all odds they make him feel something. They make him feel love by association, even though he's not really associated. They make him cry in pain, even though it's not his pain to feel. They crash in kisses and passion that doesn't touch him physically but never leaves him.

In his conclusions he finds something else as well. As much as they fit, as well as their hands and steps fall in time, they're not perfect.

They're not perfect for him to completely latch his faith onto. In hope for something of his own.

blockquoteIt was pouring with rain, so much for the predicted heat wave, and Kurt was watching them from his living room window. Not his bedroom. His shadow flickered and raindrops cried down the window. The atmosphere drowned his own body and he saw nothing but them.

Facing each other outside Brittany's house. Grand hand gestures and hair flips only matched by silver screen comparisons. Yet no one was watching the same movie Kurt was.

Santana yelled something to Brittany, who's face Kurt couldn't see, and he could almost hear her. The sound reached through the windows in a dull blur of noise. He knew that if he'd opened a window he'd hear every word. But that's a line he wouldn't cross.

Instead he stared intently at their confrontation in a painful silence that leaked between the pitter-patter of rain. Their bodies had so much distance between them that it hurt to notice how much they didn't fit. The rain soaked their clothes and through all the dark and motions he'd sworn that Santana was crying.

And then Brittany hugged her. The taller girl wrapped her arms around Santana like she didn't want to let go and Santana curled into her neck with her mouth still moving.

Kurt watched them like a TV show, anticipating the black and white ending; when Brittany let go and walked back to her house alone.

His heart went out to the both of them as Santana stalked quickly and with a invisible weight on her shoulders away from Brittany's house./blockquote

In his mind he dramatizes it a little. There's a story line in his head for them; Brittany the scorned lover, Santana the cheater. They mostly involve Santana breaking Brittany's heart only for them to repair their relationship and become more in love than they once were. That might not even be the case.

He doesn't like to imagine that it's not serious for them, because they reassure him of something. They give him hope to hold out for his own combination or artistic glory in or out of the cow town they all reside in. Kurt just wants them to be in love.

i'God,'/i He prays that they are. He prays that he's not just a bystander to something that doesn't mean anything, to add to his growing list of things that don't mean anything; and he prays that he's not delusional for caring so much about these girls that he hardly knows.

center~/center

Brittany leans on the white picket fence separating their houses and stares with longing down the road. Her hair picks up the morning light and threads it through her braid and onto her skin.

Her eyes are weary and tired. Her lip is caught between her teeth and she appears to aimlessly wish in the direction she's looking at. Probably in the direction of Santana's house.

Kurt stands with one arm inside his mailbox contemplating her expression. There are letters between his fingers that he needs to give to his dad but she's stopping him wordlessly.

And then he does the unthinkable. He speaks.

"Hello."

Brittany whirls around to him like she hadn't seen him stumble sleepily out of his house and over the grass. Her eyes take a second to focus on him and identify him as 'not Santana'.

Kurt is grateful that she smiles through it though.

"Hi." Her voice is soft and sibilate. It's perfect to his ears in the early morning.

Kurt realizes he doesn't have much to say after 'Hi'. Mostly because this is the first time he's attempted to talk to her. And although he's been watching her for weeks, he really knows nothing about this girl who seems so wonderful and so heartbroken. His mouth hangs open limp and stupidly.

"You don't usually get the mail." She points out. Kurt briefly looks at his hand still inside the mail box and withdraws them. There are a few letters for his dad.

"I guess not." He doesn't even know what he's saying. "Are you getting the mail?"

Brittany tilts her head in confusion.

"It's your mailbox not mine."

Taken aback Kurt nods nervously. He can feel her stare all over him like it hasn't before. What was he thinking? He doesn't know her. He doesn't know her and he's trying to talk to her like he does.

"What are you waiting for then?" Kurt asks, his mind in a mess. The anxious part of him that is still waiting for the hospital to take off his wrist support tells him to retreat and back away, he should leave her alone.

Brittany turns her head towards the road again and ignores his question.

The dent in his confidence only encourages his doubts. But then he remembers.

He cares.

"Did you and her-" Kurt weakly stammers out knowing that he shouldn't be revealing that he's been spying. "-your friend. Have a fight?"

Brittany suddenly takes her elbows off the fence and crosses them over her chest defensively. "What?"

"I'm sorry." He blanches. He can feel his face freeze into a panicked look. "I just mean that I see you sometimes with a girl and she hasn't been around much lately."

The lie stings but he can't give away much more.

Brittany's arms relax. "Her name is Santana."

Kurt nods, still frozen. "Are you okay?"

She shrugs a little awkwardly and he becomes aware of how far away their standing to be having a conversation. He takes a step.

"I guess. I just feel sad in the mornings because she's not- she hasn't come around." Brittany spills. Kurt guesses from the undertone in her voice that the interrupted confession had something to do with not waking up next to her. It tugs at his heart.

"Have you talked?" He ventures. She shakes her head, looking at him curiously. "Maybe you should talk to her about what's making you sad."

He feels a bit like Mercedes, he just wants Brittany to open up and tell him. Kurt forgets though, that he's spent weeks watching and figuring this girl out, and he's still just the boy who moved in next door who hasn't come over to introduce himself.

"What if she doesn't listen?" Brittany asks.

Kurt glances at the ground with his own secret smile. There's a gratification in her questioning him that he hasn't felt in a while.

"If she cares, she will." He answers.

A familiar cheery disposition lights up over Brittany's face in full force. The obvious answer given obviously hadn't occurred to her. He likes how that small sentence has helped her.

"I'll talk to her." She decides. Her voice not only addresses Kurt but the witnesses in the air and the ground. Kurt thinks that they probably understand Brittany anyway.

"Make sure you tell her everything." He adds not wanting to let go of their interaction. He's flooded with that old feeling of being a social butterfly again, as he once was with Mercedes and to his small group of friends. It's a feeling that was taken from him and that he wants to bring back. One conversation at a time.

"Thanks Kurt." Brittany backs away from the fence almost too soon for his sudden liking. "You should come out more often."

She leaves him standing by the fence with letters not addressed to him wondering when he told her his name.

center~/center

He hasn't made on his promise to come out more, to his dad or to Brittany. He likes sitting back like this, in the background, and keeping to himself. If Mercedes were around she probably wouldn't recognize him.

There's a dent in his forehead from the awkward way he's been leaning against his window frame. It's lines up with the scar on his left eyebrow. The fight seems light years away from where he is now. The wrist support is long gone, sparkling mirror pieces and all.

He feels like a new person, yet nothing seems to have changed for him.

The air coming in through his window carries the sigh of a climax which makes him look down. There's a sketchpad on his knees that's he's forgotten in his thoughts. The pencil in his hand is dull and worn from the lines he's pressed into the paper.

Kurt slyly looks to Brittany's dark bedroom and traces a hand over his paper. He didn't mean to draw them. The urge to hold onto something about these nights overwhelmed him and their forms, their shadows, became dark, curvy silhouettes on his page.

His reasons are unlike the majority. He appreciates their bodies, he gently observes their movements, their desire, he experiences it all second hand. But he doesn't lust after them; he lusts for something like them, of his own form, his own rhythm and rhyme.

Until then he basks in the glow of what he can see and the hope it gives him for the future. It's a thought he almost allows himself to fall asleep to.

Then there's a unexpected tap that hits his window. A rock.

He freezes at being found but somehow finds himself leaning into sight of the window.

Brittany kneels at her window with her head resting on her elbow. Her hand comes up and she waves, brandishing a smile as well as a greeting. She's a girl that has reconciled and has the world back at her feet once more.

All Kurt can do in his mortification is wave back.

"Hey." She whispers like it isn't the dead of night and that people can hear them.

He pushes up his window more and leans out to her. "Hi."

The actions please her and he really didn't think she could smile that wide.

"Santana is staying over tonight." She tells him, the joy at the announcement fills her up. Kurt almost says that he knows.

"Everything's good then?" He knows how much she's missed her.

She nods sleepily. Worn out from the night.

"You should come round tomorrow to see us." She offers. Kurt can't bring himself to make an excuse or say no. She beams upon him in a faux-innocence he wishes to possess. "And stop being a turtle."

That's were she stumps him.

Kurt hears a light murmur from the room behind her that is probably louder for Brittany than for him. It makes sense for the bubbly girl though as she turns to him apologetically.

"Oh, I meant a hermit."

Kurt laughs. He laughs without prompt or worry. It's something he hasn't done in months and his chest feels like it's going to explode.

"Alright." He doesn't even ask what they'll do or why she wants him to come around. All is lost within her final wave goodnight and the bursting expansion of his chest. He leaves his sketchbook by the window and retreats to bed.

His pillow swamps his head and there's no pain to follow his sudden drop to the mattress. He's healed, he's smiling and he's hoping again. Kurt can't bring himself to worry about starting school in the next few weeks, or Mercedes, or his dad, or how he's going to get himself out of this town.

All he wants to do is lose himself in the brief fleeting feeling of his own laughter.

centerfin/center


End file.
